


The Haunting of Ristorante L’Amore

by burglebezzlement



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Formalwear, It's For a Case, Snow, Valentine's Day, firehouse, ghostbusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 02:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13649871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burglebezzlement/pseuds/burglebezzlement
Summary: When the Ghostbusters are faced with a ghost who only comes out for people on romantic dates, Patty and Holtz have to pretend to be a couple. If only Patty’s inconvenient feelings for Holtz weren’t getting in the way.





	The Haunting of Ristorante L’Amore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lunik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunik/gifts).



There’s still two nights left before Valentine’s Day, but Ristorante L’Amore is already decked out for the occasion, with tissue-paper hearts hanging from the ceiling and a red, long-stemmed rose on every table. 

Patty leans in and inspects the rose as the restaurant’s owner seats them. Fake. 

_Just like this date_ , Patty thinks, as she smiles at Holtz across the table.

* * *

Like so many of their cases, the haunting at the Ristorante L’Amore came to the Ghostbusters’ attention when a concerned owner called Kevin to leave a garbled message.

“And the Valentine’s Day, it is in only three days,” the restaurant’s owner sobbed to Abby. “It is — how you say? The majority of my income for the winter months. We have the filet mignons, they are ordered, but the customers, they do not pay their bills when the ghost appears.”

Abby pushed her glasses up her nose. “First off? Drop the accent. We’re not stupid.”

“Fine.” The owner’s accent shifted to pure New Jerseyan tones. “It’s a real ghost, though. And it’s going to drive away all my customers. How do you think a place like Ristorante L’Amore makes its money? We need people to come in, get a little frisky, order some bubbly. Valentine’s Day is make or break for us. I can’t afford to have a ghost driving all my customers away.”

“We’ll be there this afternoon,” Erin promised. “Don’t worry. We can handle this.”

“This afternoon may not work.” The owner shook his head when he saw their quizzical expressions. “The ghost only shows up when we’ve got couples getting romantic.”

“So two of us go undercover and pretend to be on a date,” Abby said, gesturing around the room. “Don’t worry. We’ll draw this ectoplasmic son of a bitch out. Valentine’s Day is safe with the Ghostbusters on the case.”

* * *

Patty’s not sure how she and Holtz ended up being the two going on the fake date. Maybe it was the dresses. She still has the floor-length burgundy velvet gown she wore to the Mayor’s Ball back when she was an MTA employee, and Holtz has a strangely deep closet that includes a long Goth corset number in black. All of Erin’s formalwear is tweed, and Abby refuses to buy anything dressier than a long cardigan.

“No objections?” Erin said, as she passed Holtz and Patty their earpieces. “Excellent. I now pronounce you fake girlfriends.”

Patty could have made one objection, but there’s no easy way to say _yeah, I think I kind of have a crush on Holtzy, and this is going to be super-awkward_.

* * *

The Holtz thing snuck up on her.

It started with the second floor of the fire house. The Ghostbusters have their desks, Erin’s filing cabinets, Kevin’s reception area, and a break area on the first floor. There are bedrooms on the third and fourth floors, where they’ve all moved in as various leases come up (Erin, Abby) or as people get sick of commuting from Staten Island (Patty) or as people get kicked out of their apartment because of completely unreasonable “no turning the building inside out” clauses in their leases (Holtz). 

The second floor was the conflict. Holtz called dibs, but there’s no calling dibs on an entire floor, and anyway, Patty’s collection of rare materials about the history of New York wouldn’t fit in her bedroom or on the main floor. It was the second floor or nothing.

So Patty ended up spending a lot of time on the second floor. Staking a claim. She dragged her old couch up there, and knocked together some bookshelves from abandoned packing crates scavenged from the bodega around the corner.

Patty used to read in a subway station, watching the commuters with half her attention while focusing on her books with the rest. Holtz wasn’t distracting compared to that. Patty kept a couple fire extinguishers around — they kept having to refill them, and she figured it was best to have a few spares — but otherwise, she hung out with her books and her historical research, and let Holtz get on with the engineering.

She didn’t realize how used to Holtz she had gotten until Holtz started setting off little paper twists of black powder, something she claimed was necessary to for testing, and Patty didn’t even blink.

Another time, Patty nodded off on the couch, halfway through a dense book about the history of SoHo. When she woke up, Holtz’s eyes were a few inches away from her own, studying her.

Patty was more sleepy than alarmed. She stretched out, and realized that Holtz had covered her with an afghan.

“I wanted to see how you slept,” Holtz said, still too close. “I’m bad at it.”

“I know,” Patty said, sitting up. They all knew. Holtz was all or nothing, on or off — she worked late into the night and then collapsed at the kitchen table, on her lab stool, anywhere but in her bed. 

“My sister made me that afghan,” Holtz said, and then she stared at Patty for a moment longer before spinning her chair around and going back to the lab bench.

 _Holtz has a sister._ Patty filed it away in her small bank of personal knowledge about Holtz. 

The afghan stayed on the couch. Sometimes Patty napped under it. Sometimes she covered Holtz with it when she dropped down for an unplanned nap.

* * *

Back at the Ristorante L’Amore, Abby’s voice crackles over their ear-pieces. “Come on, guys. You look like you’re on an awkward first date. Get romantic.”

“You look lovely,” Holtz says, leaning forward. “That dress becomes you.”

“Thank you.” Patty wonders if she should say the same to Holtz, who looks amazing in her Goth finery, her black corset and long skirt. She has a delicate cameo version of her usual necklace tied around her neck on a velvet band.

“Waiter!” Holtz waves a hand dramatically in the air. “Waiter, we will have your most romantic foods, if you please.”

The owner comes forward with plates of spaghetti and meatballs.

“Oh, no,” Patty says. She might not wear it often, but she likes this dress. She’s not going to wreck it trying to reenact Lady and the Tramp with Holtz.

“Just pretend to eat,” Erin says, through the earpiece. “We need to lure the ghost out!”

Patty stumbles her way through half the plate of spaghetti and a glass of wine, while Holtz keeps up a rambling monologue about spectral field theory and the difficulties involved in finding scrap with a high enough percentage of zinc. 

The owner takes their plates when they’re only half-done, and brings them a single chocolate lava cake, flaked with gold, with only one fork. Patty plays along while Holtz feeds her bites of the cake from the fork.

“I actually did bring you something,” Holtz says, once the cake is gone. Her voice has dropped down from the fake voice she was using earlier, and she looks a little nervous as she hands a small box across the table to Patty. “I made it for you.”

Patty meets Holtz’s eyes. She can’t tell if this is part of the act or not. “Thank you,” she says, opening the box.

There’s a cuff-style bracelet inside. It’s scrappy, welded with circuits in copper and gold, with a large, dark stone set in the center. 

“It’s beautiful,” Patty says. She takes it from the box, running a finger over the stone. It’s oddly warm to the touch.

“Portable PKE meter,” Holtz says. “You said you wanted one.”

Patty puts the bracelet on and lets herself touch Holtz’s face. “Thank you,” she says. 

She just wishes this were real.

“I measured your wrist in your sleep,” Holtz says. And Patty wonders, watching her, their eyes meeting without Holtz’s yellow glasses for once. The bracelet fits perfectly. Almost like Holtz is telling the truth, like Holtz really did make it for her. 

Holtz takes Patty’s hand, tangling their fingers together on the table.

“Giving Patty the bracelet isn’t working,” Abby says, shattering the moment. “You guys need to kiss. Come on. Get this show on the road.”

Holtz’s mouth quirks to the side, and then she leans in. Patty knows they’re supposed to be watching for the ghost, but she can’t help but close her eyes, can’t stop herself from leaning in the last few inches —

There’s a crackle of proton-pack fire above them, the sudden smell of ozone, and Holtz pulls back and pulls Patty under the table.

“Let’s let them have this one,” Holtz says, as Abby and Erin’s beams wrap around the ghost. The stone on Patty’s new bracelet is alight, its faceted interior alive with red and gold sparks.

Holtz takes Patty’s wrist. “It works,” she says, like it’s a surprise, and Patty holds her breath because they’re still so close.

* * *

It’s dark outside when they leave the restaurant.

“We saved Valentine’s Day,” Holtz says, as Abby and Erin load the ghost into the Ecto 2 in its containment canister.

“Yeah.” Patty rubs her fingers along the surface of the bracelet. The stone is dark now, the ghost gone, the day saved. “Go us.”

Holtz watches Abby and Erin pull out the proton pack rack, and then turns to Patty. She’s wearing a faux fur coat. It’s cold out, a New York February, and she must be freezing. “You want to walk back?” she asks.

“Yeah.” Patty wraps her own coat tighter around herself.

It’s snowing, flakes catching in the light from the streetlights as Holtz dances down the sidewalk. She’s wearing boots under her dress. Erin protested, but Holtz insisted that her dress was long enough to hide them.

The snow grows steadier, a kaleidoscope of flakes around them. They’re almost back at the fire station, now. Erin and Abby probably beat them back.

“I’ve never had a Valentine’s date before,” Holtz says.

“No?” Patty catches up with her.

“Never.” Holtz spins around, tongue out, trying to catch a snowflake, before stumbling into Patty’s side. Patty catches her.

“Holtzy?”

“Yeah?” Holtz’s eyes are enormous under the streetlight. There’s snow in her hair, and Patty brushes it off before she can stop herself.

“Did you make the bracelet for me? Like, for real make it for me?”

“Of course,” Holtz says.

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Holtz spins away, a lone dancer under a streetlight spotlight.

“Spell it out for me.”

Holtz turns and comes back, crashing into Patty, sending them both up against the brick of a building. Patty’s pinned between Holtz’s arms, so close she can smell the vague electrical-fire smell that seems to manifest itself in everything Holtz owns, like she’s a one-woman electrical storm. 

Holtz takes Patty’s wrist, tracing the edge of the bracelet, and then tangles their fingers together, before reaching up with her other hand and pulling Patty down to her, her lips on Patty’s lips, cold at first and then warmed by on another.

“Obvious enough?” she asks, when they finally break apart.

“Maybe not yet.” Patty brushes a hand over Holtz’s cheek. “Make sure I can’t miss it.”

Holtz leans in again, and Patty smiles against her lips.


End file.
